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THE BIBLE FOR BLOKES FROM THE DADDY OF BREAKFAST RADIO
CHRISTIAN O’CONNELL
To all the men. Past, present and future. This one’s for us.
CONTENTS
Foreword by James Nesbitt Introduction I • The Man Quiz II • Rites of Passage III • The History of Men IV • Men and their Mates V • Men and Women VI • Men and Emotions VII • Hollywood: The Male Moral Compass VIII • The Future of Men IX • The Real Men First XI X • The Men Commandments Index Copyright About the PublisherFOREWORD
BY
JAMES NESBITT
‘What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals – and yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?’
Shakespeare knew his onions. Four hundred and one years after Hamlet so deftly defined man’s complexities and insecurities, his pride and self-loathing, his capabilities for good and evil, we’re none the wiser. In fact, in 2008, this is much worse. Hamlet was jammy enough to die a hero. His dad was dead, though appeared once nightly as a ghost during the summer season. His mum married his uncle, so clearly they both had to die, he had sex with his girlfriend then mistakenly stabbed and killed her father, who was hiding behind the curtain, or ‘arras’ as Shakespeare called it – he obviously didn’t know his ‘arras’ from his elbow. She went mental before doing the decent thing of drowning herself before he had the ‘we need to talk’ nightmare, and then in his death throes after he had been pierced with a poison sword, his best mate Horatio held him in his arms and snogged him. Thus ensuring Hamlet died happy in the knowledge that he had tried everything.
But modern man. We have to live. Every day we have to live with ourselves, our partners, our children, our friends. And we don’t know how to. We’re scared. We’re lost. How did it come to this?
How did we arrive at a situation where we spend more on grooming products than we do on beer?
Why do our mates openly discuss their feelings while our wives debate the offside trap? Why, despite our embracing of liberal modernity, do we still have no control over the groin area?
If we publicly cry more than Charles Ingalls in an average episode of Little House on the Prairie, does it demonstrate how in touch we are with our feminine side or do we appear weak, pathetic nonces?
Why do our children change from adoring little angels to sulky ten-year-olds, embarrassed to even breathe? And why in God’s name at the age of 43 do I still suck my thumb? We need answers. Desperately.
For years women have had everyone from Mrs Beeton to Germaine Greer to Bridget Jones. Men have had no one. Until now.
Christian O’Connell looks like Jerry Seinfeld’s younger brother but with bigger teeth. And has a fondness for wearing muscle tops. Not an obvious candidate for our knight in shining armour, but don’t be fooled.
Our friendship is based on abuse. I listen while he abuses me. But I like to think it’s borne out of love. He is as at home in the company of women as he is in the company of men. He is funny, irreverent, scathing, at times coruscating but never cruel. Very much the modern man.
He has not, however, fallen prey to the dumbing-down culture which so pervades our society. Intelligent, kind and erudite, he is a devoted husband and father. But at heart he is a man’s man and is the answer to our prayers. With Christian, men can regain their identity and walk proud and tall. His wife’s man, his daughter’s man, his friend’s man, he’s my man. He’s Christian O’Connell.
INTRODUCTION
Three things happened in a week that made me think I needed to write this book. First, my newspaper had a headline screaming ‘The Redundant Male’. Next was my wife’s sinister cackling while reading her new book, How to Kill Your Husband. The final insult was turning on the TV and seeing that advert for Sheilas’ Wheels offering cheaper car insurance for those oh so careful women drivers. Discrimination. And during Heartbeat.
ENOUGH.
At no other time in history have men been so openly ridiculed – and we have only ourselves to blame. We have never been so confused about how to be a man.
Sure, there are countless books offering insights into the female condition but precious few for men. Until now.
This book is about how we are as men. When we are alone. With our mates. With women. With the TV and movie heroes that have taught us everything we know.
I would like to make it crystal clear that this is not any kind of instruction manual: none of us would read it and I wouldn’t be sitting here writing it.
I
THE MAN QUIZ
This is a book for men. These days it’s hard to tell who is a man and who isn’t. This handy quiz may help.
1 Instructions are for:ReadingLosers
2 Did you cry in Rocky III when Apollo died?Who is Rocky and what is Apollo?For days
3 You are invited to attend the motion picture Sex and the City by your other half. Do you:Happily say you’d love to go. Two and a half hours with the fab four sounds like heaven!Say, ‘I’d rather rub a cheese grater across my scrotum’
1 It is one in the morning and you return home after a night out with your mates. Do you:Retire to bed with a warm glass of milk and an oat biscuitFire up the frying pan and start to cook despite the fact you cannot see or stand unaided
2 A phone conversation with a mate will:Go on forever sometimes!Finish within a minute and in that time words will often be replaced by a complex system of grunts, mumbles and silences that only men understand
3 How much time do you spend in front of the mirror getting ready?Several minutes following an intense cleansing, toning, exfoliating and moisturising programmeLess than a minute
4 The best time to call an ex is:Never. Best to let bygones be bygones and move onWhen you’ve had a skinful and are feeling horny
5 What are you better at recalling?Birthdays, anniversariesEntire lines and scenes from movies like The Godfather, Police Academy 5 and anything starring Steven Seagal
1 What is the real purpose of the remote control?To change the channels remotely from a distanceTo flick around the moment the ads come on and try and see everything else that is on, but to never settle for more than 1.7 seconds on anything
2 TV detectives Starsky and Hutch and Bodie and Doyle from The Professionals are having a fight. Who will win?Starsky and HutchBodie and Doyle
3 You are stuck on a desert island and suddenly discover a DVD player. You have been alone for 76 days. There is only one DVD to watch: The Godfather: Part III. Do you:Watch itGrab the nearest coconut and smash the copy of Godfather: Part III to pieces, screaming, ‘How could they do this? They ruined it!’
4 Which is better, Star Wars or Harry Potter?Harry PotterStar Wars because 1) Princess Leia appears in chains in a gold bikini and 2) Han Solo is a space pirate
5 When was the last time you cried?Just last week when your supermarket ran out of shaved parmesan During an episode of Rolf’s Animal Hospital when a brave but sick dog died
6 You are asked ‘What are you thinking?’ by your partner. Do you:Tell her exactly what you are thinking – you were imagining what the girl who just walked past would look like naked with you on herReply shiftily, ‘Nothing’
7 The best place to relax and unwind at home is:In the front room with some lovely throws and scented candlesIn the loo under the stairs which smells but has a lock
8 A 42-inch TV is:Way too bigNot big enough but will have to do
9 A man’s position on a dance floor is: On it with his partner using some steps they learnt together at a salsa classDrinking at the bar, laughing at all the other men trying to dance
10 Saturday night TV is:Great fun! So many exciting programmes to choose from like Strictly Come Dancing and Dancing On Ice Utter shit
11 You are at a pet shop and have to choose between buying a cat or a dog. Do you:Pick a cat as they are just so cutePick a dog cos they kill cats
12 You are arguing with your wife or girlfriend. Do you:Work out a positive outcome, having fully understood the various issues raisedApologise despite having no idea what you are sorry about
13 You notice that the loo roll is empty. Do you:Replace itIgnore it, not really understanding what needs to happen to replace it
14 You are lost in a car. Do you:Ask for directions from a cheery localCarry on driving around, insisting you are not lost and that it’s somewhere round here
15 Have you ever watched more than one hour of a period drama/America’s Next Top Model?YesSorry, I don’t recognise the shows you talk of
1 You meet up with your mates in the pub. Do you talk about:Your feelingsWho would win in a fight between James Bond and Jack Bauer
2 Do you have a pair of lucky underpants that smell and have holes?Good God, noYes
3 It’s your best friend’s birthday. Do you:Send him a birthday card and buy him a giftIgnore it
4 Do you know what duck-egg blue is?Sure, it’s a light blue great for rooms with plenty of natural daylightColour of Man City’s home kit?
5 What do you fear more?Knife attack from a group of deadly ninjasMan flu
6 At a barbecue, how do you know when the chicken is done?When it’s white throughout When you say it is (despite guests throwing up and ambulances arriving)
7 What do you think of musicals?Great entertainment – have seen Les Mis and Cats several times, always a blastPure evil
8 Are you over the age of 30 and wear low-slung denim around your knees? If so, please put this book down and fuck off.
If you answered ‘a’ to any of the above, you’re not a man. Thank you for your time and interest and please place this book back on the shelf for a real man.
If you answered ‘b’ to any of the above, this book is for you.
I bet some of the questions made you think, even hesitate, before answering. We are confused, aren’t we? We don’t know what we are supposed to be any more. I don’t know how to change the wheel on my car. My dad does, though. I’d just get the AA out. We use moisturisers and eat sandwiches with rocket in. What’s happening to us?
I guess it would make sense to start this book at the beginning. Our rites of passage.
II
RITES OF PASSAGE
On the journey through life we pass through various experiences that shape who we are. The boy becomes the man. Or more likely the boy stays the boy but buys a house, gets married and has kids, all the time wondering when is he going to grow up and stop laughing when people fall over.
But what are the key moments in a young man’s life and development?
PARENTS
Whether it’s informing you that eating apple core will make trees grow out of your ears or that playing with yourself will turn you blind, these people shape us into what we become. Be it a serial killer or an MP – it’s all their fault.
Actually, it’s our dad who gives us the first impression of what a man is and does. My dad was very loving and he instilled a great sense of ‘you can do anything in life if you work hard enough’ in me. He was and still is nuts.
The best story to illustrate this is how we dealt with the death of my younger sister’s cat. Well, actually, it was the second cat death in our family. The first died after my dad accidentally left it out one night. In the snow. Sadly this was before Ray Mears and Bear Grylls so poor Henry didn’t know how to construct a rudimentary bivouac for shelter.
The second one, a beloved tabby cat called Pepper, passed away in less extreme circumstances. My sister was understandably upset but my dad assured her that he would be on his way to Cat Heaven and he would take care of his burial. What I’m about to tell you is beyond belief – but please don’t judge my dad as he is made from the same man genes as us all. Having been promised a decent cat send-off for poor beloved Pepper, my sister came running into the house in floods of tears. Hysterical. She claimed in her emotional state to have seen ‘my Pepper on a skip’.
Now it’s not unknown for the grief-stricken to see visions of the recently departed. That’s what must have happened here. Or so I thought. My dad calmed her down and asked me to help him with something. He quietly told me we needed to move the body.
Sorry, Dad? The body?
You see, my dad had deposited poor old Pepper, the family cat, on the neighbour’s skip. Hey, who hasn’t dumped some carpet underlay or old paint tins in a neighbour’s skip late at night? But a dead pet? He hadn’t even made an attempt to cover it with anything! So now he was getting his son in on his deception, and I was loving it. Both father and son bonded and giggled as poor old Pepper was lifted off the skip and taken elsewhere. Then my dad calmly told my sister we had just checked the skip and there was no cat body. Go see for yourself, he urged her. She checked it and agreed. I had learnt a valuable lesson: men lie.
Then there was the time he tried to landscape the garden on the cheap by doing it himself. He hired this beast of a thing called a rotavator. He tried to steer it one way and it flung him over the neighbour’s fence. All I saw was this runaway rotavator, Dad-less, and then I heard a word I hadn’t heard before – ‘FUCKER!’ – as my dad popped up the other side of our neighbour’s fence, leapt back over and began to chase after it. Shirtless, wearing only, of course, his magical Dad Pants.
I learnt another valuable lesson. Men are funny. Funny peculiar. Oh, and another lesson: always hire a rotavator with an automatic cut-off switch.
SCHOOL DAYS
When I think of my school days, I physically wince. It’s the flashbacks of brand new shoes in September, which had no give in them until March the next year, at which point it was time for a new pair of Clarks Commandos. In your early school days your mum dresses you… but then something called puberty happens.
In men puberty lasts until they die. So many changes happen to the young man. First come the little acts of rebellion in your school uniform. You don’t want your mum’s big fat Windsor knot in your tie – I was at school in the eighties so it was now a slim jim. Or you tucked it away into your shirt. Then you wanted to wear Stay Press trousers. You couldn’t hope to get a girl’s attention without Stay Press.
Then it was the looking at girls differently. Very differently. Getting these funny feelings you didn’t really understand. You used to be happy to stare out of the window during lessons, praying for excitement like a stray dog running into the playground. Now you stared at bras and tried to work out who had one and who didn’t. Oh, and the teachers’ breasts.
Puberty is hard on a young man. How do you cope with getting unwanted and embarrassing erections in the middle of a history lesson about the Great Fire of London? They were either unwanted or I was getting the horn from all that fire talk. It was even worse during PE. The girls in PE skirts, getting cheap thrills coming down the ropes. Me and my grubby mates suddenly taking a very keen interest in netball lessons. Happy days. I remember this girl at school who was very attractive, totally aware of it and a terrible tease. During a squash lesson, she was playing our teacher and we were all told to watch as he demonstrated his court technique. She had conveniently forgotten her outfit so was playing in little more than her bra and knickers. With her pert breasts bouncing up and down. It was too much not only for the boys leering down at the court action but also the teacher. He started to show a boner. I helpfully and loudly pointed this out, thinking it was part of his ‘court’ technique, and everyone started shouting, ‘MR ______’S (name deleted here as he was a good teacher and I feel bad about humiliating him, but not that bad as it was funny) GOT A BONER.’ We were ordered to go and get changed immediately and wait in the school minibus. When he got into the minibus to take us back to school he told me to get out and walk. I had learnt another lesson. Never ever laugh at another man’s erection.
PE
It was during the hell of PE and games that I got my first real sense of rejection. At school you just want to be part of the gang, to have some sense of belonging. You don’t want to be an outsider. You want to be in the school football team. My problem was that I was very bad at football. My toe punt had killed several kids and therefore I never got picked. At break time I was always last – chosen after the asthmatic kid, the fat kid with tits and the kid with a sticking plaster over one of the lenses of his glasses. I don’t think I’ve ever got over the feeling of rejection of not making the school football team and maybe it’s that that made me want to sit in a little room each morning talking crap between songs. I am still looking for the approval the PE teacher never gave me. All the awards, they don’t help the pain.
While we are on the subject, what’s the deal with PE teachers? Psychos. Why did they hang around the showers checking we were going in naked? And, of course, like every other school, there was this kid who hit puberty at eleven and had an enormous cock that quite obviously scared/fascinated the PE teachers. I never understood why the PE teacher had his own office. All that was in there were tennis rackets and porn mags, or so my young fertile mind would imagine. Watching too many Porky’s films polluted my mind.
SCHOOL MUSICALS
After the sporting rejection I decided maybe the world of school entertainment would prove to be my calling. So I auditioned for the school production of Bugsy Malone. With the promise of after-school rehearsals (mainly with girls), I was on to a winner. It would also keep me away from my penis and my masturbation habit, which was threatening to overtake my life.
The only small obstacle in my way was the audition. Simple. Sing to the Head of Music any song you wanted. As a huge Elvis Presley fan, I went for ‘Blue Suede Shoes’. I now regret this. What justice could a spotty 13-year-old with a breaking voice do to The King?
I was to stand behind the music teacher – ‘Just call me Dave’ – while he accompanied my powerhouse of a performance on the piano. I set off at a blistering pace full of vim and vigour that The King himself would have been proud of. This was soon derailed by the shaking shoulders and head of ‘Just call me Dave’. At first I thought he was getting lost in the powerful vocal performance from yours truly, giving it some Jerry Lee Lewis at the piano. But no, he was shaking with barely concealed laughter. At me. And in a way at Elvis. I kept going until the end like a pro and quickly made my excuses and left. (Hey, ‘Dave’, I hope you’re living alone in rented accommodation now while I talk to – no, enthral – an audience of 17 each morning. FUCK you!)
The next day the cast list went up on the school noticeboard by the staff room where we all thought the teachers had orgies. I was cast. As Knuckles. Who was a heavy. Cool, I thought, they cast me as a hard man due to my rugged presence. Like the future man I would become, I was developing a keen sense of denial and the ability to kid myself. I slowly realised Knuckles was also a mute. I learnt another valuable lesson. Only gay boys do school musicals.
DINNER LADIES
It’s at school we get our first taste of authority figures. At primary school (or whatever it’s called now) there was that most terrifying form of humanity: the dinner lady. No word of a lie, I once saw one slap an unruly kid who was having a really bad Brussel sprout tantrum and had made the mistake of kicking a dinner lady in the shins. The resulting smack lifted him off his feet and sent him through the air. I heard that those Chinese nutjobs who guarded the Olympic flame when it came to London were trained by dinner ladies.
OF BED SHEETS AND SNAIL TRAILS
It’s also at school that our young man minds first get filled with the low background chatter of sex. A lot. As little boys our willies are things of fascination, and they remain that for the rest of our lives. With puberty, the fascination becomes an obsession. Most men grow out of this – unless you’re an MP or a professional footballer.
Its size, measuring it, playing with it. Our lives revolve around our own special friend. I remember an assembly which was all about sexual reproduction. The girls were told all about the changes they would be going through, and us boys got cheap thrills at the slides of breasts in bras. Then the woodwork teacher walked out and started telling us, and I’m not making this up, how to correctly measure your penis. The woodwork teacher. He said, as only a man could, that looking down at your penis was an inaccurate way to determine its length due to depth perception. A tape measure was best. I was now trying to work out how I was going to smuggle my mum’s tape measure out of her sewing kit.
‘What do you need that for, darling?’
‘Just going to measure my cock.’
‘OK, don’t forget your tea’s almost ready.’
My journey into self-pleasure coincided with something that I now look back on as some kind of cruel trick played by my parents. They had done my bedroom out and pretty damn cool it looked too. The problem was my bed sheets. They were black.
Well, black with what resembled snail trails everywhere. I remember my mum’s look of surprise as I started to do my own washing – but just the bed sheet. I almost had to get help to break it in half to get it in the washing machine. The evidence, trail of evidence, was there for all to see, and it prompted my mum to say ominously, ‘Your dad’s going to have a chat with you about all that.’ Yes, it was time to have the birds and bees chat. Oh God.